Tony Law – Go Mr Tony Go!

Any attempt to contain the incessantly buoyant antics of Tony Law within the parameters of a review is redundant. What appears to be midday on a Monday might as well be the detonating collapse of space and time as Law takes the scattered fragments of the universe and re-assembles them according to his own frenzied vision. Bounding on to minimal jazz-riffs, sporting braces and a tangled beard, Law's preliminary interrogations of the front row are ironic inversions of stale comedy preambles, furnishing the crooked way for crazed gear-shifts and devastating subversions.

As Law sets off on his enigmatic journey, a perplexing parade of pandas, porn stars, dead comedians, Germans and a financier works up an insistent, reciprocal force in the room, the early-rising audience now surrendered to the oblivion. The notion of being a 'dangerous' comic threads through the chaotic sequence, culminating in a costume-laden, brilliantly disjointed rock n' roll finale.

At one o'clock, I walk out to York Place, expecting to see evidence of the recent changes in the laws of physics. I'm not sure what Tony Law is, but I am going to see this again.